


Strength

by EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends (Dark Horse Comics), Star Wars: Clone Wars (2003) - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, One-Sided Attraction, Sexual Content, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 10:03:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7310545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12/pseuds/EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She means to break him, and she will. But slowly. She might enjoy his company for a bit. Set during captivity on Rattatak</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't ship Ventrobi, but this one, this one would not get out of my head. More chapters to come, let me know what you think

She wondered if he knew how attractive he was. She had never found much appeal in human males, many of them were whining, narcissistic, caring only for themselves and whatever sexual pleasure they thought she might bring them. She used them for her own needs, discarding them at without a second thought, sometimes, when one particularly annoyed her, killing them was the only was she felt full satisfaction with them.

The Jedi was different. He had been in here prison for three days now, his beige tunic ripped to shreds and smeared with his own blood; cuts lined every part of his body, and his lips were cracked dry from thirst. But with his body so exposed, held up by the chains fastened to the wall above him, she could take in his body. His muscles were cut, clear indicators of a life of physical activity. His hair, though now tinged on the ends with sweat after her most recent session of torturing him and the heat of the cell he was locked, was a brilliant auburn color, thick, and laid over his face in a way that framed him perfectly. She liked the beard too, it gave him a look of maturity.

Physically, she found herself drawn to him. But in other ways as well. Despite the obvious pain she had put him in, indicated by the heavy bruising on his ribs, and the cuts and lash marks decorating his upper body; he had not given in to her. He had answered no questions, and instead of screaming as his clones had been doing for almost a day now when she tortured them, the most he had done was grunt in discomfort when she had jerked his head back and run the thin curve of a knife blade around the soft skin of his throat. He was strong-willed, she could see why Dooku wanted to turn him so badly.

Now he was sleeping, carefully keeping his weight from being fully on his extended arms, and she watched him, feeling his strong force signature radiating off of him. He was alluring, calling her in to him. She doubted now, that he realized how attractive he was. From what she had seen, it wasn't in Kenobi's nature to draw attention to himself. Unlike the brat Skywalker, who she hoped had been destroyed in the fires she had rained on Jabiim after taking Kenobi hostage. With her luck, he was still alive, lamenting about how much he had lost.

But his loss had been her gain. She had only finished her last session with Kenobi an hour ago, only stopping when blood had finally started to run down his back and into the floor. The guards had fed him the muscle toxins, and he had gone to sleep shortly afterward, she assumed because he didn't know when then next opportunity would be. Despite this, she burned to do it again, she wanted to hear his refusal, wanted to finally make him scream, break through the resolve that she found so enticing and finally sink into the Jedi's heart.

But now she looked at him, wondering other things. Picturing him on top of her, the rest o his lean body exposed to her touch, his lips pressed into hers, making pathways down her body. Her finger flitted unconsciously t her neck, imagining what it might feel like if he would touch her. A blast of rage hit her when she realized it could never be so; a thick wave of pure loathing when she remembered why the Jedi had been brought here in the first place.

Dooku wanted him as a replacement for her, she thought this Jedi's strength matched her own, and she had captured him, brought him hear to torture, to prove him wrong. Which she would do. The Jedi would break. She pulled from her suit the leather mask that hummed with the Dark Side of the force, and while he still slept, pulled it over his head. He wouldn't be able to concentrate, even now she could feel his force signature interrupting slightly, though in truth it was stronger than most she had felt. She looked at him through the holes in the mask, and curling her lip, decided it was time for him to wake up.

She slid the knife from earlier form her belt, and with painful precision, twisted the point into a soft spot between two of his ribs. He didn't jerk awake as she thought he might but she stared at him as his eyes opened through the holes in the mask he now wore. He held her gaze, making no noise as thick drops of blood began running down past his ribs, into the waistband of his pants. "Wake up, false Jedi."

He said nothing in response to her, and she moved the knife to a new spot. She was going to break him, it might be slow and painstaking as a process, but the Jedi would crack as everyone else did. In the meantime, as she looked down at his body, steadily becoming slicker and more red, she could enjoy looking at him.


	2. Silence

She cut a thin line over his chest, watching more blood seep out of it, his skin peeling apart. She could feel his eyes on her, so she took the time to smile at him, curling her lips and exposing her teeth. "this could be so much easier, dearest, if you'd just answer my questions."

He, like always, didn't reply. She wondered if he was capable of speech anymore; he hadn't said anything for days, only his blinking eyes and bleeding body indicators that he was still alive at all. She had been his for weeks, almost fifty cycles since the battle of Jabiim. He had stopped talking to her at all after the death of all of his clones except the Commander who demanded Kenobi's release every time she spoke to him. "What's the matter? Have you finally realized your Order has forgotten you?"

Days before, she had gotten over her resistance to her physical attraction to him, to watching him bound and bloodied at her command. Her hand slid over his defined abdomen, feeling all of the muscles there, smearing them red as his blood dripped down her hand. "What did you expect, False Jedi? You lost Jabiim." She pulled his tired body close to her own, pressing against the cuts she had placed on him, and using the knife still clasped between her fingers, dug gently into the skin at the back of his knees.

She could feel, as much as he was trying to keep it hidden, the small jerk of his body as she did this. The Jedi could feel pain, the thought made her smile against the skin of his taut shoulder when she had pressed her face. "It's okay if it hurts." She cooed at him, digging the knife into another point on his skin. "I'm the only one who will hear you scream, darling." Btu he didn't relent, and finally, she released him, his body swaying back to its original suspended position on the chains. She looked at her handiwork, his torso a mess of whip lashes in what had been a particularly intriguing few days for her. His tunic was destroyed in bloody scraps that had found themselves permanently stuck to the dingy floor beneath him; only a small part of his Jedi leggings remained, covering only a little, but just enough of him to peek her curiosity. His legs, bared, were almost as much of a mess as his torso, the fine ginger hairs that covered them twisted and matted with his blood and some of one of the clones she had killed in front of him, letting the dying soldier cough his lungs over his legs until she grew tired of him and buried her lightsaber through his chest, letting him twitch and die as Kenobi's blue eyes locked with hers.

She had a fond memory of that, although that had been when he had stopped talking to her, and she had to admit she missed his thick, pompous voice. The accent was interesting, it reminded her too much of Dooku, but it was more suited to Kenobi. She paused, deciding that eventually, she would have to kill him. He was only there as long as Dooku saw use for him, and his use was wearing thin. Especially since Skywalker turned out to be alive, one of the only Jedi who still had belief in Kenobi's use. But Kenobi didn't know that, to his knowledge, his ape apprentice had died alongside the others at Jabiim. And she wasn't about to tell him.

"Who are you staying loyal for, Kenobi?" She cut a thin line across his face. "Not yourself. Skywalker is dead. The Jedi have abandoned you." She pulled him closer again, sliding the blade flat against his back, blood trailing over her fingers. She wondered what Dooku would think, the way she had her arms wrapped around him was reminiscent of an embrace. If only he knew of her thoughts. Of Kenobi, naked, her slave. Hovering over her, pushing inside of her, his breath mingling with hers. It was a thought train that she only let loose when he master wasn't near her, she didn't want that, she wanted him fully. In the whim of the momentary thought, she stepped back, setting the knife back on the table behind her, watching his eyes follow her.

If she had ended their session, it would be far shorter than normal. Minutes where usual she would take an hour to try and elicit screams from him. She had something else in mind, his pain would mingle with her pleasure. He could be hers in other ways. The thoughts of him, bound to her, physically bonded within the pair of them was more than arousing.

She sauntered back to him, a wicked glean in her eyes and her smile. If he noticed, the stoicism of the Jedi didn't falter. Not that he could have stopped her, his chains fastened tight to the ceiling, his body fully open to her. She wrapped warm fingers under the bottom lip of the mask, taking care to scrape her nails against his skin, deep enough to cut white marks across his skin. She wondered what he thought, that he might be getting some relief from the grip of the torture mask. No. Not until he gave her something in return.

She folded in up, rolling it until it came to rest on the apex of his nose, his eyes still exposed, staring hard at her. His beard had grown out, though malnutrition had his body expending energy elsewhere in maintaining and trying to heal his muscles. His lips were cracked and dry. The small amount of water she afforded him did little for them, and the bruises etched along his jawbones were the exact shape of the fingers she placed there now, turning his face towards her. She pressed a hard kiss to his lips, but more than that, she slid her free hand down his body to grip tightly at the only area still covered by his trousers. The mask was pressed under his nose, forcing him to open his mouth to hers, but his hips jerked back from her, desperate to separate her hand from where it held him tightly through the cloth.

"Don't pretend, Kenobi." She whispered against his lips, letting him draw in a full, almost strangled breath. "That you aren't interested." But before he was man, Kenobi was a Jedi. He was glaring at her, alarm apparent in his eyes she could barely see through their sockets. She squeezed him hard one more time, pressing another kiss to his lips, biting his bottom lip between her teeth before she released him. She slid the mask back down over his face, and turned where she wasn't facing him. She had wanted to see him beg, see him wanton. Apparently, it would take more than that.

She reached again for the knife she had laid on the table. "Why won't you talk to me, dear?" She said, moving to twist it hard into his side. "I'm offering you so much for just your words."

Her forward actions had unbalanced him, she could tell. There was a stricken look in his eyes, this was not the kind of torture he was expecting from her. She let a hand rest on his covered hipbone, nail digging into his back as her knife continued its work. Even though his voice was muffled, concealed by the mask, roughed by the lack of water and mental peace, his voice came to her clearly.

"I have nothing to say to you."


End file.
